Low Heat

I didn't bother with a bowl,

just a spoon and the pot on the burner.

I was too hungry to wait for the bubbles,

too tired to care about the etiquette of steam.

The first gulp was a mistake of heat.

I felt the roof of my mouth surrender,

a peeling flap of skin I’ll poke at for days

with a tongue that never learns its lesson.

Now the rest sits on the cold stove,

a thin, orange skin forming over the top

like a scab on a wound that wasn't deep enough

to justify all this fussing.